“It doesn’t answer his purpose to do so at present, but he has shown his teeth and, doubtless, will bite in good time.”
“Ah, Lorry,” cried Peace; “what falsehood and dissimulation there is in this world! One does not know whom to trust. The longer a man lives the more forcibly he becomes impressed with this melancholy fact. I never thought very much of that lad. There’s nothing open or candid about him, and he has a cruel, treacherous pair of eyes, but make your mind easy and get rid of the fellow.”
“I shall have to do so, I expect, but it cannot be done at present. But I say, old man, how is it I’ve not seen anything of you for so long a time?”
“For a very excellent reason,” returned Peace, with a smile. “Her Majesty required my services.”
“Ah, I forgot you were landed at Sheffield for a little affair at Crooksemoor House. That was an unfortunate piece of business—but these things can’t be helped.”
“I left Dartmoor but a day or two since, and came up to London just for a day or two. A kind friend sent me a letter, in which was enclosed a twenty-pound note. I guessed where it came from, and so have called to thank you.”
“I did not send it,” exclaimed Laura Stanbridge, suddenly. “If I had thought of it I certainly should have forwarded you something—but, to speak frankly, the idea never occurred to me.”
“You did not send it? The handwriting looked like yours, and I made certain——”
“You are mistaken. I have not sent any letter to Dartmoor—indeed, I did not know you were there. I should have thought they would have sent you to Parkhurst.”
“Not sent it?” muttered Peace, scratching his head in a puzzled and perplexed manner. “Who the devil did send it, then?”